Discover. . .: A Worthy #Villain for #WickedWednesday by Diane Scott Lewis

WICKED WEDNESDAY

Please join me in welcoming Diane Scott Lewis to Discover... We all love a good villain, and Diane discovered she loves writing them. It's a villain's Wicked Wednesday.

I’ve never written from the POV of a villain before, so in my novel, To Entice a Spy, it was a thrill to flesh out a wicked spy during the 1794 French Revolution. Pierre is a Frenchman out for revenge against England, a country trying to destroy the rebellion. Pierre abhors the elite, but must pretend to be one of them to sneak into their circles to flush out English spies. It’s fun to give a character full rein, without concern about their ‘decency’ for the audience. Pierre does have his reasons for his supreme hate of aristocrats, even a villain needs a believable motive, but a murder here and there, and the attempted seduction of my heroine, without the constraints of being the hero, was a delight to write.

Excerpt:

Pierre, though he didn’t go by that name in public, bowed over the hand of Lady Boscawen in the Truro Assembly Rooms. His English perfect, no one suspected he was French, which at this time could be hazardous. Unless you were one of those entitled, often titled and penniless, émigrés who’d swarmed into England once the revolution had started.

Bewigged popinjays they were, living off English charity, believing they would soon return and continue their idle lives in France. Their oppressive taxes had ruined those beneath them.

Pierre smiled grimly to himself. The beheadings that continued in Paris should make them quake in their high-heeled shoes.

“Oh, my dear, you are quite the raconteur.” Lady Boscawen, a cow of a woman with a double chin, scrutinized him. Had she ever been pretty? He doubted it.

“You are too kind, lovely lady.” He squeezed her plump, gloved hand. “I do hope you will honor me with a waltz later.”

“The waltz, how scandalous. I won’t have it performed; men and women in too close contact.” She waved her fan, stirring the fake curls on her low forehead. Her rouged lips pouted. “It is not done here in England.”

“Then it is my loss. In Austria and other places I’ve traveled, the waltz is more in favor.” Pierre sighed, his hand over his heart. To ingratiate himself with the local society was paramount to his mission. He eyed the older woman before him in her silver silk dress over hoops, giving her width she didn’t need. “A country dance, perhaps?”

These Englishwomen flaunted themselves in expensive frippery, much like the decadent aristos of the French court. Merde, thanks to the fervor of Lady Liberty, his faction, and others, had destroyed that monstrosity. The former king and queen were now sans their heads.

“Oh, sir, I am flattered, but that sort of dance has become, shall I say, too lively for me.” She batted her lashes, but it seemed forced, as if she took his measure. The ridiculous pink furbelow around her generous waist swayed as she studied him. “Are you in town in search of a bride?”

“Perhaps, if I find the right woman.” His handsome visage had always served him well. His masquerade as a prominent man of means had been so far successful. He’d charm these foolish females, bed a few, and ferret out any nemeses. “I’m devastated you’re not free to wed, my lady.”

“Oh, palaver; you would not be able to handle me.” She smiled slyly, her fan fluttering. “Reminds me, I must find my wandering husband.”

Pierre bowed and moved away from her. He hid a grimace at being stuck in this backwater, instead of perusing the more interesting intrigues of London.

He snatched a glass of Canary from a tray, caught himself, and gave an indulgent nod to the servant. No need to draw negative attention by being rude. He sipped the sweet wine. His father had been a wine maker, one who’d managed to send Pierre to respected schools where he’d excelled in both deportment, and deception.

But the increased taxes that allowed the Austrian Whore, Marie Antionette, to flaunt her wealth had kept his family from prospering no matter their hard work. His cherished parents were worn out with little to show for it.

The angry rumbling that started in ’88 had exploded in ’89. That oppressive prison torn down, the warden’s head on a pike. The people had had enough!

Pierre smiled. He would see to it that England’s sympathy for the royals and aristocrats—and the war they declared after Louise XVI went to the guillotine—would never smother the rights of the common man.

His jaw rigid, he gazed about the room at the chattering people. Music played, skirts twirled in a rainbow of pastels, stocking-clad ankles danced amid the fragrance of perfume and sweat. Some of the women wore the high-waisted Grecian style popular in France. Others clung to the older styles.

The men sported plain though expensive clothing, which Pierre preferred, even in his guise as an aristocrat. Wigs were on their way out; however, many gentlemen still powdered their hair.

His fingers tightened on the glass. An anti-revolutionary society operated in this town, interrupting his machinations—searching to uncover him. In addition, the powerful Duc de Brodeur had operatives here in Truro. Pierre needed the particulars to obliterate them and obtain—with his partner—the funds to support the revolution.

To Entice a Spy BLURB:

In 1794, Widowed Countess Eseld Trehearne seeks revenge for the brutal death of her female companion during a Paris riot. On her return to England, Eseld delves into espionage to defeat the French rebels.

Baron Robert Penhale, Eseld’s childhood love, rejoins the Secret Services after his wife’s death. He’s determined to protect England from the revolution terrorizing France.

A ruthless French spy fights for the common man while disguised as an English aristocrat. He’s intent on revenge against those who oppose him.

With the spy stalking them and Robert in fear for Eseld's life, the fate of the couple verges on disaster.